Always Wanting More
by mimithereader
Summary: Prompt: Dark!Stiles has sex with lydia against a wall WARNING: NONCON


"And I'm insatiable."

Hot breath tickles her skin, leaving moisture behind on her cheek. Her body trembles nervously and she can't fight the urge to turn away. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, doesn't want him to know she's scared.

Grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, he turns her around quickly and shoves her up against the wall. She doesn't want to seem scared, but she can't hide the way her shaking increases as he caresses her jaw. He puts two fingers against the pulse point on her neck, applying enough pressure to cause her to gasp.

"Your hearts racing," he sing-songs.

He trails long fingers from her throat to her collarbone, reveling in the way she swallows visibly. He wraps a long, strawberry blonde curl around his fingers, twirling it around in faux-innocence.

"You know, Lydia, we're still connected - Stiles and I." A wide grin breaks out on his face as he notices the hard glare she's giving him. Leaning in closely, his lips mere millimeters from her ear, he whispers, "you can't kill me."

She _hates_ knowing that he can tell when her breathing picks up.

"You care about him, don't you?" he asks condescendingly. "It's sweet, really."

He pushes her against the wall harder, pressing his body firmly against hers, as he brackets her in place by slamming his hands on either side of her head. She turns her face away, but it doesn't dissuade him. _Of course_ it doesn't as he instead takes her movement as an invitation to lick a stripe down from her ear to her collarbone. He runs his tongue along her fine collarbone, sucking lightly.

"What do you want?" she asks, aiming for a harsh tone but probably sounding more terrified than anything.

He bites down on her collarbone roughly, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her.

"I already told you," he responded casually, moving his hands down to grasp her hips roughly. "I want more."

"What does that even mean?" she grits out.

"You won't fight me," he whispers chidingly. "Will you, Lydia? You know I'll win. And you won't hurt him – _can't, _can you, Lydia?"

She looks away, refusing to dignify that accusation with a response. He's right. He's right and he _knows_ it. Because Lydia _can't_ hurt Stiles.

"Look at me."

She doesn't comply, instead keeping her gaze locked firmly on the gate.

"I said _LOOK AT ME!"_ he shouted, gripping her jaw tightly and forcing her head to turntowards him.

She does as she's told, fear getting the better of her. He laughs in a way that's so _not_ Stiles that it makes her cringe. Stiles's laugh has always been happy, just shy of carefree. This – this _things_ laugh was malicious. He releases the bruising hold on her jaw and she has just a second to be relieved at the disappearing pressure before he's reaching down and yanking up her dress. Panic sets in quickly as he waste no time in literally tearing the underwear off her body and this blatant display of strength is just one more sign that this isn't _Stiles_.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly as he rubs a large hand up the inside of her thigh. He wraps his other hand in the hair at the top of her head and yanks roughly so she is staring up at him once more. He leans in fast, bruising her lips with a rough kiss. He licks at her lips, but she refuses to allow him entry, refuses to let this be a real kiss. He takes her lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood before pulling away slightly and laughing.

His hand on her thigh moves further up and suddenly he's _touching_ her. He rubs between her legs in a surprisingly gentle manner before swooping back in for another painful kiss. This time when he licks at her lips she pulls away and snaps her neck forward fast enough to head-butt him in the nose. He takes a staggering step backwards, hand going up to wipe at the blood gushing from his nostril. He gives her a smile that could really only be described as wicked.

"You're going to regret that."

She closes her eyes in anxious anticipation but she knows _exactly_ what is going to happen and she can't pretend otherwise when the sound of a zipper being pulled down can be heard so clearly. He steps back into her space swiftly, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head with only one of his hands.

"Go ahead and look, Lydia," he says, bursting with confidence. He presses a kiss to the side of her mouth, whispering against her cheek, "don't tell me you've never been curious."

He drops her hands and for a split second she thinks that's it, that he might just walk away. But she's not that lucky. None of them ever are. He is quick to shove her further up the wall, yanking her off the ground, and shoving her legs around his waist.

Clutching her thighs in a vice-like grip, he enters her with a rapid, painful thrust. She brings her hands up to his shoulders trying in vain to push him away, push him off her, _out_ of her. It doesn't work; he doesn't even budge.

She clenches her jaw at the feeling of his length inside her, sliding all but the tip out and pounding back in deeply. Excruciating pain radiates in her whole body. Her lower back is being rubbed raw against the wall where her dress has been yanked up. She feels the scrapes deepening, most likely bleeding, with each upwards jerk of his hips. There's a pulsating pain inside her from how harshly he is thrusting with an angle that allows him to enter her all the way.

"Look at me," he spits out, any feign niceness replaced with pure coldness.

She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to give him this, not after he's already taking so much. Bu she is so scared, so terrified.

So she obeys.

She stares into those dark eyes that once held such light as he continues to pound into her unforgivingly, hands surely leaving marks on the backs of her thighs.

"I'll make you scream," he says as his movements pick up speed, eyes never leaving hers.

She feels his hips still momentarily and then move in small, involuntarily jerks as he rides out his orgasm. She bites hard at her bottom lip, trying to keep herself from gagging at the feeling of him coming inside of her. She tries to focus on something else, anything but the feeling of him sliding out of her.

He drops her to the ground and she falls in a boneless heap, upper half still propped against the wall. He zips up his pants nonchalantly, like nothing even happened. Crouching down in front of her, he takes her face in his hands once again, gently this time.

"I think you're beautiful."

And suddenly she's flashing back to sophomore year homecoming. Stiles had said those exact words. At the time she hadn't appreciated them for the sweet sentiment that it was, but hearing those words now, she would do anything to go back in time.

He places a too-tender kiss to her forehead before pulling back and winking at her.

And those eyes. She would never be able to look at them again.


End file.
